Minuet
by Umeko
Summary: One-shots of the characters and their relationships. A mix of romance, family and friendship.
1. Library Minuet

Disclaimer: The characters of Le Chevalier D'Eon do not belong to me. May contain spoilers for the anime.

This is a series of one-shots on the relationships between the characters of the anime. To start off, some Max-Lia fluff. Wonder where the Secret du Roi hangs out at Versailles?

**Library Minuet**

Durand was not around. It was only him, _and Lia de Beaumont. _Maximilien Robespierre stepped into the library. He was a knight of King Louis XV. A member of the Secret du Roi, like Durand and Lia. They were colleagues, fellow knights… He allowed his eyes to fall on the slender ankle exposed under the voluminous red skirts as Lia sat on the couch and read some novel. She must have reported the outcome of her little trip to Orleans to the Duc d'Broglie, or perhaps to His Majesty. Or perhaps Durand had been sent with her to Orleans and was now reporting to the duke. In a few minutes he would be back in the library.

"Durand is out paying court to Mademoiselle Fleur de Lyons, do take a seat, Robespierre," Lia peered over the top of her book. "He will not be back, at least till tomorrow, unless Monsieur de Lyons sees him off." A smile danced on her lips when she saw the flicker of his eyes before he averted them. Lia was a handsome woman, and she knew how to use her womanly charms to their greatest advantage if need be. Now she was bemused by Maximilien's reaction to catching a glimpse of her stocking-clad ankle. She tucked her feet modestly under her skirts. Don't men have ankles too? One would be hard pressed to find anyone blushing at the sight of D'Eon's ankles and he went about in stockings and leather shoes as was the current fashion for young men.

"Mademoiselle, I beg your pardon for intruding…" Maximilien stiffly strolled over to the bookcase. _Why was he acting like that?_ They had worked together before. He had seen her dressed as a boy. He had glimpsed her in a gown at the King's ball, speaking with the Queen. Why should now be different? She was witty and charming, with courage and skill with a sword more than enough to put most men to shame.

Could this be? Maximilien reached out for a book. Lia's fingertips brushed against his as she reached out for the very same book. His breath caught when he became aware of her skirt hem ghosting a few inches from his feet. _Were they that close?_ Their eyes met. Violet blue orbs gazing into emerald green. There was no denying it. He was in love with his fellow knight, Lia de Beaumont. And he felt as inadequate as a schoolboy. Lia batted her eyelashes.

"After you, Mademoiselle…" Maximilien smiled and stepped back awkwardly.

_What did he know of starting a casual conversation?_ That was Durand's forte. Their colleague could strike up a conversation with almost anyone. Durand was a favourite of many young ladies in the city of Paris, coaxed into bestowing their favours on him by his honeyed tongue._ But not Lia de Beaumont. _She was too used to his sweet talk to fall for it.

Unlike his more extroverted colleagues, Maximilien was more sedate. He disliked balls, noisy taverns and social gatherings, settings in which Lia and Durand thrived. He preferred to hide in the shadows and observe and, if need be, strike swiftly with his sword for the good of France. The library was his sanctuary when he wanted to hide from the social demands in the palace, until now…

Pale winter sunlight beamed into the library, catching the gold of Lia's immaculately dressed hair so that she seemed to be wearing a halo. She was beautiful. She took the book from the shelf and opened it.

"_Tristan and Iseult_, I never thought of you as a romantic, Monsieur…" Lia smiled. Maximilien smiled back awkwardly. He had been looking for a tome on medicine.

"We could read it together, if you wish…" she added, taking his smile for one of regret.

Maximilien hesitated. _Should he agree? _If he did, would she laugh and make some witty comment, firmly but gently rebuffing him, the same way she often parried verbally with Durand?

"Or if you wish, Shakespeare's _Anthony and Cleopatra_ is on the third shelf," Lia teased.

"Mademoiselle, I will be honoured to read _Tristan and Iseult_ with you," Maximilien decided then. To his relief and joy, she sat down on the couch and beckoned him to join her. He was going to court this angel before him. The medical tome can wait.

**Author's Notes:**

The minuet is a ballroom dance popular in the French royal court during the 17-18th century. Some mild flirtation in the library.

In case anyone is wondering, Tristan and Iseult is a romance legend very popular in Europe during the Middle Ages. It is a bit like the King Arthur, Guinerve, Sir Lancelot love triangle. The legend runs lthat a knight Tristan was assigned to fetch the bride (Princess Iseult) on behalf of his uncle King Mark. En route to Mark's castle, the young couple ingest a love potion and end up falling passionately in love.


	2. Lily Nocturne

Disclaimer: The characters of Le Chevalier D'Eon do not belong to me.

More Max and Lia fluff. An insecure Lia needs reassuring from Max. Don't know if it works, here goes.

**Lily Nocturne **

The lilies are in full bloom, flooding the garden with their perfume. She had fled here after the rite was completed. The thought of the blasphemy they had committed. Will the late Queen Mary's soul be allowed to rest in peace? Had they sinned by summoning her from her pious rest? What of her husband and her sister? Taking in ragged breaths of air, she lowered the cowl of her cloak.

"Well met by moonlight, my dear Lia…"

Surprised, she whirled round, alert and ready for battle. A tall cloaked figure stood at the landing overlooking the lilies. Slowly, the figure lowered his cowl.

She let out a breath she did not even realise she had been holding. It was Maximilien.

Slowly with measured step, he descended the stone steps into this quiet moonlit quadrangle of a garden.

"Max… This… What have we done? Surely…" Lia spluttered, seeking reassurance from him. Maximilien stroked her cheek tenderly. A small weary smile tugged on his lips.

"It's for the good of France," he offered the token phrase she had so often heard. _It is our duty to the king. It is for the glory of France…_ The words ceased to mean anything to her at this point.

"Max… Is that all?" So what if their participation was the key to winning the trust of the English and the Revolutionary Brethren? What did it matter that both she and Max had the chance to try the strength of their poems and prove themselves as poets? Surely what they did was a sin, an affront to God above…

"And we have reunited two, no, three souls who love each other dearly…" Maximilien took her hand in his tenderly. "Surely there is no sin in that."

His eyes looked into hers, deep pools of sincerity. He placed his hands on her shoulders to reassure her. Lia smiled and placed her hands on his chest. She had not realised that they were standing so close. She stepped back modestly, clutching for the small crucifix she always wore, before recalling that she had given it to her brother before she left France. Maximilien stood quietly, his arms now lowered to his sides under the voluminous folds of his cloak. For an eternity they stood motionless in the moonlight, listening to the whine of the insects and breathing the heavy perfume of the lilies.

"Maximilien…" Lia spoke finally. The blond inclined his head.

"Are you are religious man?" she asked. Lia was a staunch Catholic, so was Durand. But Max… Maximilien had never made any profession to be religiously inclined. His church attendance was irregular enough for that toad Broglie to question if Robespierre met the requirements for a French knight. But His Majesty was more tolerant and Maximilien continued in the Secret du Roi.

"I believe in Heaven, Lia. And it is here, with you…"

"Oh, Max…" Lia's heart skipped a beat. She allowed him to embrace her. All her fears and doubts melted away in his arms.

**Author's Notes: **

I timed this to be after the ceremony summoning the late Queen Mary's soul to her sister's body. In 18th century France, almost everyone was Catholic. Over in England, they were Anglicans.

Any comments? Too clichéd? Anyone? Perhaps I should change the pairing or something.


	3. Spring on a Swing

Disclaimer: The characters of Le Chevalier D'Eon do not belong to me.

Lia plays the coquette. Is it Lia and Durand fluff? Or…

**Spring on a Swing**

Durand could not believe his luck as he pushed her on the swing, sending her soaring through the air in an arc of bright colour. It was a beautiful spring day and the sky a lovely blue the colour of cornflowers. Her skirts were a brilliant red and her petticoats a primrose yellow. She laughed and he thought it the most musical sound he ever heard. They stumbled upon the old swing by chance during their picnic after Robespierre wandered off. It looks sturdy enough and Lia was all for indulging in a spot of childlike fun.

This was not like the Lia de Beaumont he knew. Lia was serious, cool and aloof, much like a cat. She was no giddy girl or weak damsel. This coquettish creature on the swing was so far removed that he thought it might be a dream. _If it is so, please don't let it end…_

He had tried on many occasions, since he first saw her at Versailles as the new attendant to the Queen, to charm her, win her heart. At first it was just a game to him. She was another lady-in-waiting, another potential conquest Sir Durand could chalk up to his name. Then she became more than an ordinary court lady. Lia became a knight of the Secret du Roi. They became colleagues and it became necessary for them to keep up their professional veneer. The Duc d'Broglie would not approve if the Secret du Roi's members fall into a romantic entanglement. The brunette had been taken to task on occasion for his romantic liaisons.

Durand would try, but each time, his attempts to woo her were firmly rebuffed. Durand had a bit of a reputation and his colleagues in the Secret du Roi knew it. Durand was never serious about the ladies he courted, until now. He was in love with Lia de Beaumont. Durand woefully admitted to himself he would probably be in her thrall for life.

"Swing me higher!" Lia called out with a girlish giggle. He obliged and she squealed in delight as she sailed through the air in a graceful arc, almost flying over the hedgerow before them.

A slipper flew off her foot. Durand grinned as more of her skirts flew up to reveal her slender calves and ankles. Whoever was standing on the other side of the hedgerow would probably have a quite a view. Suddenly worried, Durand tore his attention from Lia over to what lay beyond the waist-high hedgerows in the shadow of the elms. Was there someone on the stone bench under the elms? Some courting nobles liked the privacy the elm-bench offers. He could not be sure. Lia swung back towards him and he pushed her.

At the very height of her soaring arc, Lia ripped her shepherdess-styled hat off her hair and tossed it into the shadows of the elms with a laugh. Her wayward skirts and petticoats flew every other way to reveal a glimpse of her thigh. There was someone else watching them from there, Durand suspected. _But who? _

A cough announced that his suspicions were well-founded. Maximilien Robespierre stepped out from the elm-shadows into a pool of sunlight. In his hand was Lia's discarded slipper and Lia's beribboned hat sat rakishly upon his head. The expression on his face was a mixture of amusement and annoyance.

"Lia, you have my full attention now."

Durand sighed regretfully as Lia swung back towards him. He felt quite the dupe as she flew off the swing and ran past the hedgerows to the elms where her true love waited. On bent knee, Maximilien slipped the slipper back onto Lia's foot with utmost reverence. She reclaimed her hat with a smile and bestowed a chaste peck on Maximilien's cheek. The empty swing swayed gently in the spring breeze as the brunette knight watched the blond couple. Durand knew he has lost and wished them all the best.

**Author's Notes:**

This piece is inspired by a Rococo-style painting of a woman on a swing.

Yes, Lia can be very daring. She has to be given she probably broke a dozen rules for proper lady-like behaviour being a swordswoman and spy for the king.

Durand is the gooseberry here.


	4. Etude in C Minor

Disclaimer: The characters of Le Chevalier D'Eon do not belong to me.

A slight change of pairing, D'Eon-Anna? Lia muses on a pair of lovebirds.

**Etude in C Minor**

_It is ridiculous_, Lia admitted as she watched the pair from her vantage point on the balcony overlooking the gardens. Everyone knew they were engaged and would most likely be joined in matrimony sooner rather than later. Somehow, they did not seem to know everyone knew. D'Eon her younger brother and his red-haired fiancée sat stiffly on a stone bench in the rose garden, a good two feet apart, even if you take into account Anna's wide skirts. Every so often, D'Eon would allow his hand to wander towards his beloved's hand, only to hesitate and pull it back as if caught in some guilty secret. Anna Rochefort for her part acted the coy maiden. It is unthinkable for a proper young lady to make the first move.

The pair was unaware of Lia watching them. Their backs ramrod straight, more from nervousness than deportment. As she watched, they seem to draw even further apart. _When did it start?_ Things were not so bad when their parents made the betrothal when Anna was a little girl in pigtails and D'Eon just starting out under Master Teillagory. In fact, the children were left alone to play in the garden under the elder Lia's watchful eye. Their families visited each other often enough for Lia and Anna to become as close as sisters. D'Eon was initially as interested in Anna as a little boy would be expected to be. Little Anna adored D'Eon from the first time they met.

When D'Eon turned fourteen, something changed. Perhaps it was then that it dawned on the pair what was expected of them. D'Eon would suddenly turn mute in Anna's presence. Or he would stutter and blush. He did confide in his sister that he thought Anna beautiful, kind and gentle. He fussed over his looks, how his limbs were too long and how he was always so clumsy during those awkward years between boyhood and manhood. D'Eon feared he would fail Anna, disappoint her. Lia knew better. D'Eon would never fail the girl he loved.

_D'Eon and Anna will be married and produce a dozen pretty children or so. Their home will be an overflowing paradise of love. They will grow old together and spend the rest of their days in pure bliss._

Lia had been engaged once, but her fiancé's family broke it off when she started learning the sword alongside D'Eon. It did not matter to her as she never met her intended. Lia would never marry someone she did not love. It was with some relief that she realised that few families liked the idea of pairing their sons with a woman who could best them in a duel with ease.

It was not their duty to their families alone that binds them. D'Eon and Anna did love each other. Yet…

Below her in the gardens a toddling dauphin came looking for his favourite playmate. The young child, still yet to be put in breeches, clambered on the bench between the pair. Anna scooped up the dauphin before he falls off the bench. The nursemaids came running. D'Eon made a hasty retreat and bid Anna a good day. Thus the so-proper lovers parted company.

Lia giggled softly. If only D'Eon were not so awkward in expressing his love for Anna. If only Anna not so demure in her ways. Lia wondered if D'Eon would ever find the courage to propose marriage to Anna properly or if Lia de Beaumont would have to send the proposal on his behalf. Perhaps she and Max should show the young couple a thing or two…

She ran her fingers through the golden locks spilling in her lap. He stirred sleepily at her touch. His hair was so soft, like spun silk…

"Lia, could you please stop mussing my hair?"Maximilien complained half-heartedly from where he was resting his head in her lap. He lifted his head from her lap as she lowered her face to his. Their lips touched, the kiss lingered for a moment or two before they drew apart. There was always the danger of discovery, and the thrill of keeping the full extent of their relationship hidden from others.

Durand knew and would hold his tongue with regards to their liaison, but it would never do for some nosy maidservant to stumble on them in their compromised state and go tattling to the Queen.

"_Adieu_, my love… I must leave for Tours…" Maximilien kissed her one more time on the lips before they part company.

"Till then, Max, _au revoir_…"

**Author's Notes:**

Still Max-Lia pairing after all. Perhaps we get a look from the other couple's POV in the next chapter.


	5. Faux Pas

Disclaimer: The characters of Le Chevalier D'Eon do not belong to me.

This is D'Eon and Anna, another POV on the couple. A bit of humour.

**Faux Pas**

_Dare he? Dare he not?_ D'Eon peered fearfully from behind the tree. The girls had disembarked from the carriage at the gate and were starting their stroll down the garden path. _Will she like the flowers, or find them silly? Will she laugh at him for being a silly boy?_ D'Eon gulped. His cravat felt too tight. He was sweating and could not breathe. His heart was leaping like a startled hare in his chest. Maybe his heart would burst before he even managed to give her the flowers.

Sixteen and in love, he felt such a schoolboy. The object of his affections was fourteen and blossoming into womanhood. Anna no longer ran about like she did as a child. Her body had started to display the curves of a woman. She now walked, no, floated in her skirts, shoulders held back and head held high. Just like the way his sister walked when she wore skirts. Just like a proper lady. The voices were drawing closer now. He peered shyly from behind the tree.

For the umpteenth time, he thought Anna was the loveliest girl he had ever seen. She was dressed in a pink and white gown trimmed with ribbons. Her red hair peeked out from under her flower-decked sunhat. Eighteen-year-old Lia was bare-headed and wore her hair in blond ringlets. Her dress was a bright red. He ducked behind the tree again.

He looked down at the bouquet of purple irises in his hands. Anna and Lia were only a few yards away from him now. Lia was telling Anna of something she saw in Versailles and Anna was laughing. No doubt it was amusing to her. _When did he stop looking upon his playmate since childhood as someone he could freely talk to?_ He never had that problem with Lia.

_Be brave, D'Eon…_ He took a deep breath and gripped the bouquet. It was now or never.

Screwing up all his courage, he walked out stiffly from behind the tree and into the path of the surprised girls. He thrust the bouquet into the nearest pair of hands and mumbled a greeting while staring at his shoes.

"F-for you…" he stammered. It was only when he dared to lift his eyes and look at the girls that he realised his mistake.

Both girls were staring at him in wide-eyed surprise. It was Lia's hands he had thrust the flowers into. He gasped in horror, turned crimson in the face, then white with embarrassment. "Oh-oh, I'm sorry!" D'Eon turned and fled for the house. The blond and redhead stared at the fleeing youth.

Lia turned to Anna. "Anna, I believe these are for you…" she held out the flowers to her good friend.

"Lia, please tell D'Eon thank you and that they're lovely."

"I will."

Anna smiled as she took the irises from Lia. _From that day forth, irises would be Anna Rochefort's favourite flowers. _

**Author's Notes: **

Yes, more awkwardness for D'Eon. (Grin) Faux Pas – false step literally

The purple iris appears in the anime several times, in the opening theme and as D'Eon's parting gift to Anna before he leaves on his mission. D'Eon later finds the dried flower on Anna's desk. The dried iris petals remain with D'Eon to the end of his days.


	6. Misericorde

Disclaimer: The characters of Le Chevalier D'Eon do not belong to me.

A promise made to a friend. An act of mercy. Spoilers warning. Lia and Durand. Slightly darker than usual.

**Misericorde**

It was a disaster. They had failed to steal the letters before they were discovered. She had ridden to the hideout with a grievously wounded Jacques slung across her saddle. Now she crouched over the limp form of their fallen comrade. With each tortured gasp more blood bubbled forth from his gore-stained lips. He had been shot in the lung and was slowly drowning in his own blood. Lia had received a glancing slash to her upper arm, which she had tied up with a scarf. She pulled Jacques into a sitting position to drain the blood from his mouth just as the brunette returned after having evaded his pursuers.

"Durand, help him…" Lia pleaded. She had been watching Jacques suffer for goodness knew how long. Durand shook his head sadly. He had seen enough wounds to know Jacques was beyond all earthly help. Their colleague's skin was cold and ashen. He was dying before their eyes.

"Please do something, Durand. He's suffering…" Lia begged. Jacques coughed out more gouts of blood. His breathing was painfully laboured.

_Perhaps there was something he could do…_

Durand took out his dagger and approached them. Jacques' eyes focused on the naked blade. There was a glimmer of hope and relieved acceptance in his glazing eyes.

"Go in peace, Jacques," Durand's movements were swift. He sliced both the jugular and carotid vessels open. With the last gush of blood and a soft sigh as if of relief, Jacques' soul flew from his body.

"Murderer!" Lia hissed and hit him. She had not expected this of him. Durand felt the pounding of her fists on his back. She was still new to the harsh realities of espionage. It was only a few moments before cold reason re-established itself in her mind and she stopped venting on her living comrade. She punched the wall instead in helpless rage. Durand leaned over to close his late mentor's eyes.

"Lia, I'm sorry… He would not have lived past sunset…" Left to nature's course, it would have been a long-drawn and agonising death for Jacques. Lia stifled a sob and flopped down on a nearby stool. There was blood on her vest and breeches from having dragged the wiry Jacques to safety.

"Come, Lia. Let me see your arm… we need to leave here…" _After leaving Jacques' corpse before the local church to be placed in a pauper's grave. God willing, they would be able to return to erect him a small cross. _

"It's only a scratch…" Lia murmured. "I'll live… Durand, I'm sorry…"

"Lia…" Durand spoke in a low whisper as he inspected her wound. Thankfully, it was not too deep a wound. "I did what was necessary. If that time ever comes for me, promise me…" He need not continue. Understanding dawned on Lia about the harsh truth of the hazardous game they played for their king. She nodded. _Misericorde._ She might be called on to wield the blade to end her colleague's life tomorrow.

* * *

_No!_ Lia screamed silently. Durand was fighting the best he can but he was weakened by the Psalms. Maximilien's will was simply too strong. She held the small silver crucifix to Durand's brow. For a fraction of a second, recognition returned to the brunette's eyes as the Psalms' power ebbed momentarily. His lips trembled, mouthing words even as the crucifix melted like ice in the summer heat. The light in his eyes dulled and he snarled like a wild animal as Lia leapt clear. The transformation was irreversible now, Durand's helpless soul trapped within that monstrosity.

She raised her sword. _Promise me. _He had said. She had promised her friend once, a long time ago. And she was going to keep it.

**Author's Notes:**

Misericorde – a short dagger often used to dispatch a mortally wounded soldier on the battlefield.

Yes, this is a very difficult thing for anyone to do, having to take a friend's life, even if it is a mercy-killing.


	7. Discordia

Disclaimer: The characters of Le Chevalier D'Eon do not belong to me.

Maximilien gets a bit jealous. Max-Lia fluff.

**Discordia**

Maximilien Robespierre started as a court musician before he became a knight of the Secret du Roi. Now the string orchestra was one violinist short and his music skills were called upon again. As he coaxed the melodious notes from his violin strings, he observed the guests at the reception through slatted eyes. No one really noticed the musicians, waiters or valets at such functions. Madame Pompadour was strutting about in her new gown, a gift from His Majesty. The neglected queen loitered by portrait of Louis XIV with her young page in attendance. The Duke of Orleans was groping a young lady after one too much drinks, much to the displeasure of the Comte of Provenance, her fiancé. His training in observation in the Secret du Roi was second nature to him.

Without faltering or missing a note, he played. He observed Broglie conversing with His Majesty, only to be waved aside. The ambassador of Sweden was talking with the Spanish envoy. Occasionally, they would glance sideways at His Majesty. Maximilien watched with amusement as a knot of ladies giggled and drifted past with Pompadour. He returned his attention to the gilded ballroom doors which were opening. His breath caught.

Lia de Beaumont floated in clad in her crimson gown. Head held high as if she were a queen. She paused to drop a curtsey before Her Majesty. Queen Marie exchanged a few words with her before Lia proceeded on towards the centre of the ballroom. Almost immediately, the young noblemen were clamouring about her, asking her for the next dance. She was beautiful. Her white snowy bosom peered out from her low bodice. Her hair was a tumble of golden ringlets. Her eyes were as bright emeralds and lips like a blooming rosebud. She smiled at her admirers, as if considering who should have the first dance.

Maximilien's bow slipped, a jarring note rent the melody. He murmured an apology to his fellow musicians.

Lia has made her choice. It was Pompadour's clerk. The hanger-on she was recommending for His Majesty's foreign office. The man smiled, no, almost leered at his beloved. His hair was greasy from too much pomade. He lifted her velvet-gloved hand to his lips and kissed it. Then the cur led Lia by the hand over to the dance floor. Maximilien's bow slipped again. Discordant note was more strident this time. He earned himself glares from the others. Another apology from him served to soothe their ruffled feathers.

Praslin. That was the dog's name. Max recalled as the pair whirled and strutted on the marbled floor. The man leaned close to whisper something to Lia. She giggled behind her silken fan, clearly finding it amusing.

That did it.

With a mistimed flick of his wrist, Maximilien's bow sliced through the strings of his instrument. The strings snapped. One sliced into his cheek. The melody ended amidst much murmuring by the musicians and the guests nearest to the orchestra. Losing their rhythm, the dancers hesitated. Max murmured an apology. He rose from his chair and lowered his ruined violin. The remaining musicians of the orchestra returned to their playing the best they could. The dance resumed. Ignoring the blood flowing down his cheek and the stares, he strode onto the dance floor. Lia saw him approach and she dismissed her bewildered dance partner mid-dance with an imperious wave of her fan.

"Max, you're bleeding…" Her velvet-clad hand brushed against his skin, holding a lacy handkerchief to his wound.

"It is nothing…" His hand closed over hers.

"And you broke your violin…" Lia took the damaged violin from his hands.

"It's nothing…" Max glared at Praslin hovering nearby. The rejected suitor beat a hasty retreat.

"Jealous, my love?" A smile danced on her lips. "Oh, you fool… You actually think I fancy that spineless worm?" She took his hand and shot a contemptuous look at Praslin's fleeing back. They glided unobtrusively over to the balcony. "I have learnt enough from our conversation, to please Broglie…" she whispered in a low voice.

Relief washed over him. They stood in the moonlight, listening to the muted sounds from revelry from within.

"My lady, will you do me the honour of the next dance?" Maximilien bowed and took Lia's hand.

"It'll be my pleasure…" Lia dropped a curtsey. They danced on the balcony in the moonlight.

**Author's Notes: **

Poor Max has his feathers ruffled seeing Lia flirting from the sidelines. Social butterfly, master swordswoman- Lia has an impressive skill-set for her spying purposes. I had this image of Maximilien as a court musician.


	8. Touche

Disclaimer: The characters of Le Chevalier D'Eon do not belong to me.

Guess who's in this piece.

**Touché **

He watched the pair fence, swords clashing. Both were highly-skilled with the sword so as to be equally matched. Steel rang on steel as he watched through the glass of the parlour window. The fighters' feet danced, scrunched and flew across the lawn. To the watcher, it seemed a carefully choreographed dance. One fighter ducked as the other's blade scythed the air where his head had been a heartbeat ago. A musical laugh sounded. He returned his glance to the letter from home he had been reading.

The house the Secret du Roi had acquired for their use in the suburbs was hidden behind a tree-lined walk. A small patch of open lawn served as a stage for them to practise their fencing in private, away from the prying eyes at Versailles. Now the ringing steel and gasps came faster. The tempo increased. The fighters sweated and panted from their exertions. Curious, the watcher tears his eyes from the inky words on paper and peered out of the window.

Their blades locked. For a few minutes they faced each other.

"Touché."

The blond knight leaned in smoothly to steal a kiss from his opponent.

"Oh, Max!"

A feminine giggle drifted to the watcher. Max hooked Lia's leg out from under her and caught her round the waist before she fell. Laughing, he lowered her onto the ground. Hands tangled in hair and clothes, lips hungry, yearning. Their swords long forgotten as they rolled onto the sweet-scented grass, unaware they were watched.

Durand shrugged, slipped the letter into his coat pocket and drew the curtains. He drifted over to the mantelpiece for a glass of wine, allowing the lovers their privacy. He settled down in an armchair before the cold fireplace.

Perhaps later when they return indoors with grass-stains on their rumpled clothes, he'd pretend he had been sleeping all this while. It was so much less awkward that way.

**Author's Notes:**

Max and Lia making out while poor Durand watches? Kinda makes one feel sorry for Durand, doesn't it?


	9. Duel

Disclaimer: The characters of Le Chevalier D'Eon do not belong to me.

Durand and Max friendship. The pair of knights have a talk over Lia.

**Duel**

Steel clashed on steel as the fighters pranced swiftly on the wooden floor. Yes, they were evenly matched, even though they wielded different weapons. The brunette wielded blades in both hands - a rapier in his right and a main-gauche in his left. He was an adept of the Florentine fighting style, having been schooled in it since earliest boyhood. The blond was a later initiate to the sword, but he was a fast learner. His weapon was a double-bladed sword. He now wielded his blade with as much confidence as he did his violin bow and was a match for his opponent. Being able to defend oneself was a necessity in their trade of cloak and dagger.

The blades locked. Each fighter tried to gain leverage against his opponent. "Do you yield, Robespierre?" Durand spoke through gritted teeth. With his crossed main-gauche and rapier and knee slightly bent, he blocked the blade of his fellow knight.

"Never!" Robespierre replied and pressed forward with all his strength.

"Isn't that Lia?" Durand said suddenly and peered as if over Maximilien's shoulder. The blond hesitated at the mention of Lia's name and almost turned back to face the door. That was enough for the brunette to gain the advantage. He flexed his knee and gave a mighty heave upwards, unbalancing Maixmilien. Before the blond knight could regain his balance, Durand deftly rapped his wrist with the heavy pommel of his rapier. The jarring pain was enough to force Maximilien's fingers open. His sword clattered harmlessly onto the hardwood planks. A quick kick to the shin had his opponent on his knees. Maximilien found himself at a disadvantage with Durand's dagger pointed at his throat.

"Touché. Lesson – never get distracted in a fight by your opponent," Durand grinned. As he lowered his blade, he sliced open his friend's silken cravat.

"Lesson taken," Maximilien ruefully rubbed his throat. "Must you ruin my silk scarf?" It had been a gift from Lia.

Durand took Maximilien's hand and helped him up. Maximilien untied his rent cravat and stuffed the silk into his pocket.

"Lia. You are walking out with Lia, aren't you?" Durand said.

"N-no…" Maximilien sounded a little flustered under his calm veneer. Durand chuckled. He knew of the relationship between his fellow knights but he simply enjoyed teasing Robespierre.

"Is that Lia's lipstick on your…" Red spots of colour rose in Robespierre's cheeks and he rubbed the side of his neck vigorously. Durand felt a faint stab of envy that his soft-spoken colleague had known the beautiful Lia in a far more intimate manner than he can ever hope to.

"Maximilien, you're serious about her, aren't you?"

"Of course, Durand. I love Lia with all my heart…" Maximilien replied calmly. It was not in his nature to be passionate but his eyes were honest. There was nothing in his tone to suggest a lie.

The next words died on Durand's lips. Had he been hoping that Robespierre would confess to just having a fling with Lia, give him some excuse to punch his lights out for being a cad? That he would still have a chance, no matter how faint? Lia had already made her choice.

_All the best, mon ami… _

Maximilien had picked up his sword and was motioning with a slight cock of his head if they should continue with their fencing practice. Durand nodded and stood _en garde_. With viper-swiftness, Maximilien lunged at his opponent. Durand parried with his rapier. Once more the ringing of steel echoed through the hall.

**Author's Notes: **

Nothing much about Max-Lia here. I always feel a tad sorry for poor Durand. He is a good friend of Maximilien's, as well as Lia's admirer. Maximilien probably treasures that friendship as well, to an extent. Didn't stop him from turning Durand into a gargoyle but after Durand's death, he had Lorenza mark his chest with Durand's blade.


	10. Judas Tree

Disclaimer: The characters of Le Chevalier D'Eon do not belong to me.

Teillagory reflects on his student. Young D'Eon-Teillagory fluff.

**Judas Tree**

They had been travelling hard and were all exhausted. The drowsy summer heat and jolting of the coach did little to improve their lassitude. Already, Robin had dozed off and had his head pillowed on Durand's shoulder. The brunette was snoring softly, his mouth slack. Seated opposite the pair, Teillagory observed the pair thoughtfully. It would seem to the old master that Sir Durand has taken Robin under his wing. A slight pressure on his shoulder caused him to turn to his right.

It was D'Eon. The blond young knight has fallen asleep and was leaning against him. The old man let out a soft sigh. D'Eon looked so innocent and childlike in his sleep. For a moment, Teillagory was transported back to when his student was a mere child.

* * *

D'Eon was eight that fall. Lia had taken ill with the scarlet fever. To spare young D'Eon the illness, their parents sent him to stay with his fencing master for two weeks. There was an old Judas tree in the garden of Teillagory's manor. The younger students enjoyed climbing among the spreading branches. That year, the old tree died and started to rot from within, unbeknownst to the youngsters. On the outside, it looked deceptively hale and strong as ever in the autumn sun. Within the tree was nothing but rotten wood. Unknowingly, the children risked death swinging and clambering among the hollowed-out trunks. The gardener warned the more rambunctious boys off, but D'Eon was not there to hear the warning or he would have heeded it. The gardener then arranged to have the tree cut down within the week.

It was after lessons when all the other students have gone home. Teillagory put away the training props with D'Eon's help. Teillagory then took some time to admire the antics of some squirrels on his lawn. He was about to return back into the house when he heard a shrill cry for help from his student. He found him a good ten feet off the ground, clinging to a branch for dear life. D'Eon had been standing on a rotten branch which had snapped under his weight. The branch he was clinging to was starting to bend alarmingly under the strain.

Teillagory prayed the branch would hold long enough for him to reach D'Eon. He was soon under D'Eon.

"Let go, D'Eon!" Teillagory held out his arms.

The terrified boy only whimpered and clung tighter to the branch. He had managed to sling his legs up so that he was hugging the branch.

"D'Eon, let go! I'll catch you!" the fencing master shouted to no avail. The branch cracked ominously. D'Eon turned his pleading eyes to his teacher.

"Trust me, D'Eon!" Teillagory urged once again for his student to let go.

The boy finally released his grasp, not a moment too soon. He plummeted straight into his teacher's waiting arms hard enough to knock poor Teillagory to the ground. The branch then gave a rotten snap and hung loosely from the dying tree. Young D'Eon was pale and trembling so much from the shock of the incident that he could barely stand. Teillagory gathered up his student into his arms and carried him indoors. D'Eon buried his face in Teillagory's shoulder and started bawling like a young child.

Normally, the gruff fencing master would have scolded his student for such a shameful display. _Men do not cry._ Instead, he sat in his armchair with the little boy in his arms until D'Eon had calmed down and fallen asleep from his exhausting adventure.

* * *

The de Beaumont siblings were a passionate pair. Lia, as expected of a woman, wore her emotions clearly. She was capable of violent emotions which she expressed both in her voice and sword. As for D'Eon… he did mature into a quiet dignity which was becoming enough for a gentleman. However, he still could not help falling to pieces when confronted with his sister's death. It was the day of that lonely wake, Lia being denied burial, that Teillagory received a missive from his new master.

"Teillagory, you are to- er- infiltrate the Secret du Roi… We believe that these secret letters the king has lost might threaten the stability of France…" the Duke of Orleans had summoned him that day. He had agreed to the mission readily. His Majesty was too busy enjoying himself at Versailles to care about the state of affairs of the nation. For like that Judas tree in the garden, France appeared sound on the outside. But inside? Rotten to the core. The only chance to turn her fortunes round lay with the Duke and perhaps the Psalms.

* * *

Teillagory felt a stab of guilt for what he was about to do. _Trust me, D'Eon…_ He reached over to gently brush a stray strand of hair from his student's brow. D'Eon smiled and murmured something inaudible in his dreams. The old spy turned his attention to the passing scenery.

**Author's Notes: **

Teillagory regretting his decision to back the Duke and betray the 4 Musketeers? Maybe.


	11. A Lullaby in Winter

Disclaimer: The characters of Le Chevalier D'Eon do not belong to me.

Some family fluff and angst. D'Eon and Lia.

**A Lullaby in Winter **

"D'Eon? What are you doing up?"

Lia frowned when she saw her little brother standing at the door of her bedroom. She did not know how long he stood here hesitant before finally knocking. The household was in an uproar that winter night. It started at dinner when Mother suddenly took ill. There was blood on the carpet. The doctor was hastily summoned by Father and the children shooed away to the nursery. Thick snow blanketed the house and the grounds, muffling all sound. The servants were running all over the house like soft-footed mice. The ignored children could still sense the tension in the house. The adults did not want them underfoot.

D'Eon was a sensitive boy. Aged only six, he was aware something was amiss but he did not understand what. He sought out the only person he knew he could seek comfort from on this cold winter night. Lia shrugged and bundled her brother inside her room. The corridor was draughty and D'Eon was wearing only his thin nightshirt. His hands were icy to her touch. She chaffed and blew on them to bring back some warmth.

"What's wrong with Mama?" D'Eon asked. Lia did not reply. Soon he would be old enough to understand, but not now.

"Come here. You're frozen." It was late and the fire in her room had long gone out. There was only one place where they can get some warmth. Lia pulled her brother into her bed with her under the covers. She arranged the covers up to his chin.

"W-will Mama d-die?" he sniffed fearfully. Lia sighed. She was an intelligent girl for her age but she had no answer D'Eon would like to hear.

"I don't know. All we can do is pray…" She gasped involuntarily when D'Eon's icy foot brushed against her skin. She wrapped her arms around him, sharing the warmth of her body with her brother.

"If we pray, will God hear?"

"He will. Trust He will…" Lia tried to sound confident even though she knew that mothers die in childbirth all the time even with prayers.

"If Mama s-should d-die, what will happen to us?" In the moonlight, D'Eon's eyes were dark pools of fear. Father hardly took notice of his offspring. Would they be sent far, far away like the Jardine children next door so their father could get a new wife sooner? They heard that the new Madame Genouille beats her stepchildren daily…

"Don't worry, D'Eon. Whatever happens, we'll be together and I'll protect you, always…"

"Promise?"

"Promise. I'll always be with you." Lia started to hum a lullaby she heard the nurses sing to them when they were younger. D'Eon's tense body relaxed slightly in her arms. Soon he was fast asleep, safe and secure in his sister's embrace.

* * *

It was cold in the crypt, but Lia was past caring about that. D'Eon allowed a tear to run down his cheek. He was chilled to the bone. His every breath hung in the still air like a mist. Winter had sunk in. A light snow has been falling since morning. It was not the first time he visited the crypt seeking answers to his questions which only she could provide.

_Why? _Lia lay in her coffin as if asleep. After all this time, there was no sign of any decay. The church had denied her burial. D'Eon stood over the coffin, stroking her icy-cold hand._ Why? _He wished he had been there to protect her. The bitter taste of grief filled his mouth. He knew that no matter how long he held her hand, it would never be warm again. Lia was dead. No amount of prayer could change that fact.

_I'll always be with you, D'Eon… and I'll protect you…_ In the cold, dark, silence, D'Eon did not sense his sister's spirit approach. He did not feel her slip her unseen arms around him. He did not hear the old melody she hummed silently in a vain attempt to soothe her brother's aching soul. Pale tears ran down her ghostly cheeks. _Always…_

**Author's Notes:**

This is before D'Eon's possession by Lia. I guess she was in a state of limbo before that. Her anger was never directed at her brother and it is very likely she would be trying to protect and comfort him despite her own pain.


	12. Moonlight Musings

Disclaimer: The characters of Le Chevalier D'Eon do not belong to me.

Guess who this piece is based on.

**Moonlight Musings **

"You sorry, misbegotten…" the boy started at the sound of the rage in that voice. _Run!_ It was too late. Rough hands seized him. He was dealt a blow which made his poor head swim. The lashes soon followed. It was a mistake to be eavesdropping on the adults, but he had to find out why the Comte's household was in an uproar. Someone very important was to visit them. There would be a party in their honour. Now it seemed that he would not live to see who. He cowered under the unrelenting blows until the Comte tired and tossed away his riding crop in disgust.

"Get out of my sight and stay out of it, you little bastard! You should be thankful we didn't throw you into the Seine when you were born!"

Aching all over, he staggered out and towards the safety of the kitchens. The servants were too busy to bother with him. The cook threw him a rag to wipe his bloodied face with. After his mother died, he had been shooed off to the kitchens and the servants' quarters. His mother taught him his letters before she passed on. He could read and write better than most of the servants but he always seemed to get in the way of their chores. The Comte looked upon him like a misbehaving dog even though he could not understand what he did to make the old man so angry. After his mother died, the beatings started. The Comte always found some excuse to have him flogged, starved or locked up in the cellars.

He slipped behind an apple barrel to nurse his wounds.

"If he didn't want Mademoiselle to keep the boy, he should have sent him off with a good family…" the scullery maid muttered as she scrubbed at a pot.

"You don't know Mademoiselle… She wanted to keep him after her love died… He was only a stable-hand, you know. Decent boy…" the cook interjected. "Even as much as the Comte threatened to toss her out, she's still his daughter. He could have a stable-hand flogged half to death and send him off with the army to die. But he'd never harm Mademoiselle."

"Methinks now Mademoiselle is gone, he means to rid himself of the boy… He takes after his father…" another maidservant added. "Either the boy runs away or the master will kill him in a temper one day."

* * *

There was an air of excitement in the air. He soon learnt that a dauphin had been born. The royal family would travel to Notre Dame for the baptism. However, the journey to and fro was deemed too arduous for a new mother and her infant. The entourage had chosen their household midway between the city and Versailles for a resting spot well away from any dangerous vapours of sickness in the city itself. This was his chance to leave his prison and go to Paris to seek his fortune.

The Comte would no doubt be glad to hear he was gone. The boy packed the meagre provisions he had filched from the kitchen into a bag. If the Comte caught him, there was no doubt he would flog him for his theft. The servants were kept busy preparing food and rooms for the royal entourage. He decided to hide his pack under the bed in his mother's old bedroom. He would time his flight with the departure of the royal entourage. One more servant boy would hardly make a difference.

It was late when he decided to make his move. He needed to retrieve his pack and join the royal grooms tending their horses in the stables before dawn. To avoid the guards patrolling the corridors, he decided on climbing the ivy outside the window to enter the room. He narrowly evaded being spotted by a patrol and clambered into room. _Why were there so many guards here?_ The royal couple should be in the other wing. Then he saw the answer.

The royal cradle was placed in his mother's old room. A brown-haired woman nursed her infant in the same armchair his late mother once sat in and read stories to him. The fire in the hearth had gone out and only a few glowing embers remained. He knew who he was looking at even though she hardly resembled those paintings he had seen. For one, she did not wear her wig now and was dressed simply in a nightdress. Still, the regal bearing was undeniable.

"Y-your Majesty…" the redhead gasped out before he could stop himself. "F-forgive me!" he fell to knees, expecting the queen to start screaming for the guards. The Comte would definitely kill him if they didn't chop his head off first.

"Lift your head, let me see your face," the queen's voice was calm and kind. The boy stopped his sniffling. In the moonlight, Marie saw a frightened little boy with messy red hair and sad blue eyes. Someone had been hitting him recently.

"Rise. Tell me your name, child." The baby in her arms gurgled as he finished his feeding.

"R-robin…" the boy replied as he got shakily to his feet.

"Well, Robin, were you going somewhere? Agnes the nursemaid found your pack under the bed. Would you believe that the guestroom in the other wing has a draft coming through a broken window- Oh, it's so dark here, go light the lamp, child…"

"I-I was going to run away… before the Comte kills me…" Robin blurted out as he lit the only candlestick in the room. Keeping his hands busy kept the tears at bay. "I know he hates having me about the house. If I don't leave soon, he'd probably kill me the next time…"

"How are you going to do that, Robin?" Marie wiped her son's mouth with her handkerchief. Robin held the candle a little closer so that she might see better.

"I'd leave with the royal procession when they go to Paris. No one will notice another servant boy… I can read and write, Mother taught me before she passed on… I'd find work as a clerk…" Robin said earnestly. There was a smile on the queen's lips as she returned her infant son to the cradle.

"You're a smart boy, and a brave one. However, you're much too young to be a clerk now…" Marie admitted. Robin's face fell.

"How would you like to leave with us, Robin? Perhaps you might make a fine knight one day, but for now, you can be my page…" Marie gently placed her hand on Robin's shoulder. "Now, go get yourself some sleep. It will be a very long day tomorrow…"

The king was agreeable to his wife's request. The Comte looked as though he was going to have a fit that morning when Robin joined the royal procession to Paris. Robin never looked back at that manor since he became a page at Versailles. Her Majesty entrusted him with responsibilities far greater than those of other palace pages.

* * *

_For those few short years at Versailles, he was truly happy… until…_

Maximilien Robespierre, formerly known as Robin, paused before the stone sarcophagus of the late Queen Marie. The revolution was in full swing. He had turned his back on Versailles and the nobles since that horrible betrayal of everything he had believed in so long ago. Tomorrow they would tear down the proud monuments the nobles had erected for their dead. He could not bear to watch. It'd be like watching her die all over again.

The boy Robin would have cried, protested and pleaded, but not the man Maximilien whom he had become. _You asked Robin to show the dauphin the new form of loyalty. I'm sorry. A part of Robin, perhaps the truest part, died back then when I walked in that door and saw you and Lady Anna dead. _He shuttered the lantern he had brought into the tombs. The moonlight was bright enough for him to pick his way through the cathedral and into the streets. The moonlight glinted off the cruel blade of the guillotine as the revolutionary passed it.

**Author's Notes:**

I always had this idea of Robin being not fully a noble and not fully a commoner. The pages of royal houses in Europe were often of some noble blood. In a way, it's like training before they can become knights or take on the adult responsibilities of a noble. Noble girls also undergo a similar training as maids-of-honour.

Fact- during the French Revolution, a good number of the royal tombs were desecrated. Even the Notre Dame Cathedral was not spared damage.


	13. A Voice in the Night

Disclaimer: The characters of Le Chevalier D'Eon do not belong to me.

A little detour from the Max-Lia and D'Eon-Anna pairings.

**A Voice in the Night**

Again he failed to show. The neglected wife finally gave up and retired to her lonely bed. Sooner or later, His Majesty had to visit her. France still needed a dauphin. She should have expected this. He was attentive enough in the early months after their wedding. Too soon his ardour cooled. Louis had his pick of the fairest damsels and matrons of Versailles. Surely his plain Polish queen could not hope to hold a candle to the Venuses who populated the French court. Blinking away tears, she thought back to her girlhood.

The king of Poland was cursed to be without an heir. His sons all perished in infancy. The palace was draughty and bitterly cold in winter back home. Versailles was never so cold, was it? Mother, careworn and weary from childbearing and burying too many of those she brought into this world. She always found time for her only surviving child. She encouraged young Maria to read and learn from the many books which cluttered the old library. Father would only shake his grey head. _What use books for a woman?_ Poland was a doomed kingdom without an heir. Once the old king died, Poland would be devoured by her stronger neighbours.

Then the French envoy came from distant Paris. The French wanted a bride for their young king, a compliant one without any power. France wanted a quiet, mousy little Marie who will not dare interfere in the complex politics of Europe. The Spanish and Italian princesses were far fairer, but their brothers and kin are liable to interfere in the France's affairs. Their armies would hover on her borders like vultures. By the time she was aware what happened, her chests were packed and she was on her way to France. Mother had a servant run after the entourage to pass her daughter a pair of ruby bracelets as a keepsake.

The dresses she wore back in Warsaw were like peasant smocks compared to the glittering gowns of the French court. The palace dressmakers and ladies-in-waiting hurriedly set upon their young queen-to-be. That hair! So brown and limp. And that complexion, far too dark to be considered pretty. Still, they managed to make a presentable bride of her.

Fourteen and so utterly alone in a foreign land. Will her husband be kind to her? She knew so little of him. Stepping before the altar, she faltered.

"Don't be afraid… I'm here with you," a young man's voice said. She saw him then. Louis XV the Blessed. He wasn't tall or particularly handsome. In fact, he was a little too plump and plain. But she loved him at once. His eyes were so kind, as was his voice. He was so gentle with her, always. Even when they drifted apart.

Now, years into her marriage she was still alone. The French nobles sneered quietly at her gauche ways even though she tried her utmost to master the complex protocols and court etiquette. To them, she would always be the foreigner, the Polish bride who has yet to produce an heir. _So lonely and cold…_ She curled up in her blankets.

She could not sleep. A tired sigh echoed through the door separating her bedchamber from His Majesty's. _Dare she?_ It was late. The fire in her fireplace had died down but there was a faint glimmer of light from the crack below the door. Marie threw on her shawl and strolled barefoot over to the door. Taking a deep breath to steady herself, she pushed the door open a crack.

Louis was hunched over his table, a frown marring his face. Scattered papers littered the table. He was alone.

"Your Majesty…" she whispered. Her voice was so unexpected that he looked up and accidentally knocked over his ink pot. Marie rushed over to the table and tossed her shawl over the spreading ink before it could touch the papers. "I'm sorry…"

"It's nothing…" For a moment, they fumbled, gathering the papers and stacking them away from the ink. The shawl was used to wipe up whatever ink it could before being disposed off on the floor. It was doubtful any laundress could salvage the damage done.

"Is it the colonies in the New World?" Marie pondered aloud. She had heard whispers of the explorations France had undertaken in the New World. The Spanish found gold, the English plantations. "Snow and ice and endless trees up North… Fever-ridden swamps in the south…" Louis sighed. He had wasted gold in a venture which was of no merit. Marie allowed her glance to fall on a map of the colonies.

"Perhaps all is not lost. Perhaps the new lands in the south can be used for plantations, much like the English are doing in the Caribbean. The climate in the northern colonies may be harsh. But it is much like Russia. Perhaps the forests will provide furs to rival those from Russia… The forests seem to be much like those back in Poland…" Marie thought aloud before she even realized she had spoken. "Forgive me, Your Majesty…" she faltered. She had spoken out of turn. She burned under Louis' gaze.

"Marie, please… dispense with formalities… Your words do have some merit to them." Marie gasped at his touch on her arm. Louis slipped an arm round her waist and steered her back to her bedchamber.

"It is late. Perhaps we better get to bed…"

"Louis, your work…"

"It can be dealt with tomorrow, with your help…" There was a hint of mild reproach in his voice which suggested sleep was not what Louis had in mind…

* * *

_Nine months later… _

It was a healthy boy child who suckled her as Marie gazed on with maternal pride. Louis had visited her on occasion, sometimes to seek her opinion on some matter of state, sometimes to ask after her and their unborn child. He valued her insight into certain matters and he was eagerly waiting for the child's arrival. It would never do for her to be seen as influencing state matters even if Louis did seek her advice on occasion. It was a pity he had been delayed in Lyons when the infant made his entry into the world. Louis would never forgo the pleasures of the beauties of France. He simply couldn't, but she would have to forgive him for that…

"Marie!" The king and new father barged into the room without waiting to be announced. His eyes immediately fell upon the mewing bundle in her arms.

"I-is this…"

"Yes, my husband, behold our son…" Marie gently turned the protesting baby to face his father. "He looks just like you…"

"If he takes after me in looks, God grant that he has his mother's intellect…" Louis sat down beside his wife on the bed and gently stroked the soft cheek of his son. _Thank you, Lord,_ Marie offered a silent prayer of thanksgiving to the heavens. Louis would continue his many liaisons while she played her part as the demure wife and mother.

**Author's Notes:**

In most royal marriages before the 20th century, the main concern was to forge a political alliance via the match. Love very rarely comes into the picture. The queen normally is a foreign princess who might not be fully accepted by her new subjects. It was the norm for kings to cheat, in some cases, outrageously, on their queens. In France and England, the king's mistresses were officially recognized as such and any illegitimate children they might have by the king are acknowledged and conferred noble titles. In the case of Louis XV, his marriage was with a princess of relatively poor prospects which his advisors felt would benefit France as France would not need to have any political or military commitment. Like France, the throne of Poland can only be passed down the male line. When his father-in-law's kingdom was carved up by her neighbours, Louis XV chose not to intervene.


	14. Sound of Silence

Disclaimer: The characters of Le Chevalier D'Eon do not belong to me.

Reply to Emme - Yes, Louis and Marie make quite a tragic couple. They are great as intellectual allies, but then Louis made that tragic miscalculation by choosing to silence Marie. One which he soon regrets.

Durand and D'Eon friendship fluff.

**Sound of Silence**

_He is not Lia_. Durand had to remind himself of that fact. _D'Eon is D'Eon. _It was amazing how alike they were in looks. When he first saw D'Eon in the crypt, he thought he was gazing upon Lia's ghost. _Did D'Eon ever question who had left the occasional lily on Lia's coffin? _He did not ask. D'Eon never mentioned it.

D'Eon was an amateur to the workings of the Secret du Roi. He might have worked with the Parisian secret police, but he was still an amateur nonetheless. If Lia had been in that crypt, her spirit would have sensed Durand's presence as he hid in the shadows. Somehow, he had felt obliged to shadow D'Eon on his own initiative, well before any orders had been sent to him, which had no doubt saved the young man's life. _Was it Lia nudging him then, urging him to watch over her brother?_

Surely there was no need for Durand to do so. Lia was clearly watching over D'Eon. Lia made her presence felt, often in the heat of their battles, possessing her brother so unmistakably and so completely that when she was done, poor D'Eon was left senseless and more dead than alive. Never once had she spoken to Durand. Did she somehow blame him for her demise? His absence during those confused days when Maximilien vanished without a trace?

She had taken hold of her younger brother again. This time leaving him utterly exhausted from both the strain of possession and his wounds. Teillagory had been called away to confer with Her Imperial Majesty of Russia. Robin? Durand had sent the boy off to his bed once he was done dressing D'Eon's wounds. It had taken them both to strip D'Eon of his soiled garments, so kitten-weak he was, and get him into his bed.

Durand remained to watch over him a while longer. D'Eon was troubled, or was it Lia? Surely it was D'Eon who cried out for his sister in his fitful dreams and begged his friend Bernis for forgiveness. D'Eon's sleep had been troubled throughout their journey. Durand knew it from the times they were forced to share a room. He wondered if Teillagory or Robin knew. It was especially bad after these fits of possession by Lia's vengeful spirit. _Was it fair of Lia to subject him to such torment?_ Durand chided himself. It was necessary. If Lia had not intervened, Voronstov would have killed D'Eon. D'Eon was far too gentle a soul to kill a fellow human being. If it weren't for Lia, they would be holding a wake for poor D'Eon now.

A hoarse cry drew Durand's attention. He hurried over to the patient's bedside, murmuring words of comfort as if to soothe a child stricken with night terrors. The blond knight's thrashing grew less frenzied, as if he understood he was safe. Durand sat on the bed close to D'Eon and took his uninjured hand in his. Still D'Eon wept and murmured unintelligibly in his sleep. The flickering light of the candles Robin had left in the room cast ghastly shadows on the tormented man's face.

Finally, the sleeper grew silent. That was the sweetest sound Durand thought he ever heard. Durand leaned close to D'Eon to inspect the bandages on his injured hand and chest. The bleeding seemed to have stopped. Once again he was struck by the likeness between the siblings. Durand gently brushed a stray lock of blond hair away from D'Eon's still fevered brow.

_Sleep well, mon ami. And pleasant dreams…_


	15. Frerot

Disclaimer: The characters of Le Chevalier D'Eon do not belong to me.

Emme, I like Durand too. He acts like he is not bothered, but he really cares for his friends, especially Robin.

Durand and Robin fluff.

**Frerot**

_Along the road to Cologne. _

"Lesson one. Be aware of your surroundings," Durand barked and smacked Robin across the shoulders with the pommel of his rapier He then kicked Robin's legs out from under him, sending him sprawling in the dirt. Robin scowled and dusted himself off, assuming an _en garde_ position. Robin was a deadly shot with his pistols but as a child, he was no match for an adult swordsman. Once fired, pistols had to be reloaded. A rapier was always ready to draw blood once unsheathed. D'Eon was cautious when sparring with the page for fear of causing an injury. Master Teillagory's practice matches with Robin were more structured, almost a predictable routine meant for a student. Durand enjoyed nothing more than an opportunity to tease the page during their free time whether sparring with words or with their blades.

"That's fighting dirty, Durand…" D'Eon chided from the side.

"It isn't," Robin retorted. "This- is fighting dirty!" Too late Durand saw the mischievous gleam in his eye. He yelled as Robin flung a clod of mud into his face before kicking him in the shin.

* * *

_St Petersburg_

"Promise me you will not laugh…"

"Promise." _What could be worse than seeing D'Eon transformed into the living likeness of Lia?_ Durand sipped at his drink.

A pretty young girl stepped out of the room with D'Eon. Durand choked. It was Robin in a dark brown wig and a dress.

"Y-you look like my little sister!" the brunette could not help but laugh.

"Durand! You promised not to laugh!" The boy's shrill protest of indignation sounded like his sister's too.

* * *

_London_

"Does it hurt?" Robin asked hesitantly. He could not tear his eyes away from the empty sleeve of Durand's coat. There were some bloodstains which would need to be sponged out.

"Not too badly…" the words were barely out of his mouth when the page leaned forward to assist him with his coat. He had forgone a cravat. It was impossible to tie one with only one hand.

"Go to bed, Robin…" Durand coaxed. They were all exhausted after the showdown at Medmenham Abbey. D'Eon had collapsed as soon as they stepped into the house. Robin did not reply. The memory of Durand's pained screams and the blood on the grass that morning, they were still too fresh. And all they did was to hide like scared rats, abandoning Durand to capture and torture… Avoiding looking the older man's eyes, Robin stooped to help Durand with his shoes and stockings.

"Leave them, Robin. I'll like to stay up a bit…" The words came out more brusquely than he meant them to. "I'm sorry…" Robin blurted.

"No, I'm sorry. You go to bed first," Durand managed a smile. Robin nodded awkwardly.

* * *

Durand had promised himself not to get too involved. He hardly had any real friends besides Maximilien and Lia, only casual acquaintances aplenty. He never formed any lasting relationships with the ladies he courted. He even held himself apart from his only family in Marseilles. A lover or sister would only be an additional burden to worry about. In his profession one cannot allow emotions and personal feelings to stand in the way of duty. Lia had broken off with Maximilien when he went rogue, so Durand had thought. Yet the brunette could not deny his friendship with Maximilien. In their days together, he could not help feel respect for Master Teillagory and nothing but friendship for D'Eon. Most of all, he had developed a brotherly affection for a certain feisty young page. _How could he lift a hand against his companions? How could he hurt Robin?_

Durand sighed as he watched Robin doze. The boy was young, almost too young to be dragged across Europe with them on such a dangerous mission. Hell, Robin could not be much older than the little sister had left back home in Marseilles. Initially, he had been tempted to write him off as just another upstart page who had found favour with his mistress. He expected the boy to run a few messages now and then before growing up into a fat and lazy footman in the palace. He was so wrong. Her Majesty had not been wrong in choosing her personal page. Robin had promise.

Pity he would not be there to see what kind of man Robin would grow into. Between all the teasing and sparring, he'd miss the lad. He reached for his pocket-watch. Maximilien had given it to him before he turned his back on France. The damned thing didn't even work. Yet he had kept it as a reminder of the friendship he once had. He had to leave the boy something. _At least… _

**Author's Notes:**

Although they tease each other a lot during the course of the anime, Durand does have a fondness towards Robin and takes him under his wing, going so far as to bestow his precious pocket-watch on him. He fits so nicely in his role as big brother.

Frerot – diminutive form of little brother in French


	16. Serenade of Raindrops

Disclaimer: The characters of Le Chevalier D'Eon do not belong to me.

D'Eon and Anna fluffiness. An interrupted stroll in the park.

**Serenade of Raindrops**

The April shower caught them both unawares. One moment they were enjoying the spring sunshine. The next the pair were fleeing for the shelter of a pavilion. The youth's long blond ponytail flapped behind him while his companion's red hair was whipped into a halo by the wind.

"I'm soaked!" Anna exclaimed. Her cheeks were rosy and her eyes glowing.

"Where's Lia? I do hope she found shelter…" D'Eon craned his neck, trying to spy his sister through the rain. The rain was now a torrent. Lia was acting as their chaperone but she had somehow fallen behind them as they strolled through the park. Other couples and picnicking families ran for shelter in their coaches or other pavilions scattered throughout the park. Had Lia found shelter? Or had she slipped off home first? Lia had been neglecting her chaperone duties lately on the odd occasion their mother assigned her to the task.

They had the pavilion to themselves and the young couple soon saw why. The pavilion they had sought shelter in was ancient. Raindrops were falling through holes in the roof. Beleaguered roses clung stubbornly to the sides in a tangle of thorns. A roar of thunder caused young Anna to leap in alarm and into D'Eon's arms. For a split second, D'Eon caught a whiff of rosewater and cinnamon.

"A-Anna, it's alright…" D'Eon cooed. For a fraction of a second he clasped his arms around her narrow waist. He breathed the sweet scent of her hair. She looked into his eyes, lips still trembling. _Only a fraction of an inch away from a kiss… _Then their strict upbringing kicked in and the pair drew away from each other guiltily.

"I-I'm sorry," D'Eon blurted. _What would Lia say if she saw him and Anna in such an embrace?_ It was positively sinful… It would scandalize their parents and ruin poor Anna's reputation.

"No, I'm sorry…" Anna's eyes were downcast. Her eyes flitted up almost shyly to her fiancé's face.

"Oh, D'Eon! You're soaked!" Anna giggled. She took her lace hanky and dried D'Eon's wet cheek. D'Eon's hand instinctively reached up to cup hers.

"Anna, don't…" he allowed his words to trail off. Anna was so beautiful.

"D-D'Eon?"

"Anna, I love you…"

"Oh, D'Eon. I love you too…"

There was a filthy bench in the old pavilion. D'Eon removed his coat and spread it over the bench so that Anna might have a seat. The rain was lightening now but both were reluctant to leave just yet. D'Eon sat next to Anna, taking her hand in his. They waited, hand in hand, watching and listening to the serenading raindrops.

**Author's Notes:**

What would Lia say? Carry on, D'Eon. ;-)

Believe she is shirking her chaperone duties to give the young couple some privacy.


	17. Interlude

Disclaimer: The characters of Le Chevalier D'Eon do not belong to me.

The surviving two musketeers catch their breaths at D'Eon's home. D'Eon and Robin fluff.

**Interlude**

Somehow they had managed to flee the Duke's mansion unchallenged despite D'Eon's injuries. With D'Eon leaning heavily on Robin, they had negotiated the chaotic streets in silence apart from the occasional hiss of pain from D'Eon. The first rays of dawn were dusting the sky when they reached the sanctuary of the de Beaumont mansion.

"No, not there…" D'Eon shook his head. They had strung up poor Henrietta in his room. He did not want to linger in that room. There were enough ghosts and he did not wish to invoke that of his murdered housekeeper. Robin nodded and they continued through the house, stepping over scattered and destroyed furniture. The blond was grey-faced and seemed to be still reeling from Master Teillagory's death. D'Eon had not had the time to tidy up after they ransacked his home.

Robin saw that the windows had been left open, how careless, he thought, for the entire duration of D'Eon's absence. D'Eon had been assigned a room to convalesce in at Versailles by Her Majesty after Bernis' death. He had continued using it after his home was ransacked. It was a miracle the place had not been stripped bare by looters. Too weak to argue, D'Eon finally agreed to lie down in Lia's bedroom, in her bed. Some effort had been made to tidy up there, possibly D'Eon's doing. It was so like D'Eon to turn Lia's room into a shrine of sorts. He hoped that there would be something in the pantry and enough bandages to patch D'Eon up. The knight was in bad shape.

There were no bandages. The page made do by tearing the sheets from the linen closet into strips. The wound on D'Eon's hip was horribly deep. He could see the gleam of bone. The shoulder bled copiously. Lia had apparently left D'Eon the master of his body for now but he was too far gone with blood-loss and fatigue to help. Robin found a sewing basket in Lia's dresser and stitched him up the best he could. It was not the first time he had patched D'Eon up but this was by far one of the worst. There was some money in the top drawer. Leaving D'Eon to rest, Robin nipped out into the streets and purchased a joint of beef and some cabbage, which he put in a pot to stew. He must keep busy, until D'Eon awoke. _D'Eon will awake… He must…_

After a short uneasy nap, Robin partook of a bowl of the stew before bringing a generous helping to D'Eon. The patient was just awakening when he stepped into the room.

"Robin," D'Eon sat up slowly and Robin hurried to help him, fluffing the pillows behind him. The relief on the boy's face was unmistakable. And the tears, which the redhead tried to blink away.

"You're alive! Thank God!" Beyond the smile, there was a haunted look about the boy as if he were a bow-string pulled too taut and on the verge of snapping.

"Robin…" D'Eon reached out and placed his hand gently on his shoulder. The fragile facade crumbled then and the floodgates opened. The page who had borne his fears so well wept like a lost child.

"Sir D'Eon, I was afraid you're going to die like Sir Durand and the Master…" the boy paused in a hiccup and lifted his hands, staring at the palms. "Master Teillagory… I shot him! I'm so sorry…"

"Robin, Don't…" D'Eon said. Gingerly, he hugged Robin with his good arm. He had been there before, when Bernis died and he was convinced he had murdered him in a blind rage. Bernis had been his friend since childhood. Little did he knew that it was Lia protecting him in the only way possible then. Now he knew a little better, not that it made things easier. D'Eon knew he could not kill a friend, not even if that friend had been reduced to a mindless gargoyle hell bent on killing him. With Durand, it still wounded him to the core. The only consolation was that Durand's soul had gone into the light and was at peace.

"How can you ever forgive me? I shot him!"

"Robin, look at me," D'Eon held Robin at arm's length. "You didn't mean to shoot him… I forgive you…" For a moment, D'Eon voice rose an octave higher. It was Lia now comforting him, Robin realized. "Robin, Master's soul is at peace. He has forgiven you even then. You did well, Robin, coming to rescue us…" Then it was D'Eon again, blinking, confused and awkward.

D'Eon groaned weakly and fell back onto the pillows. Even that brief moment of possession was torment on his weakened body despite him now being used to sharing his body with his sister's soul. He was painfully aware things had changed. Robin might have left France as their page, but that had changed. He became a friend to them, their brother-in-arms, one of the Four Musketeers. Robin sniffled and wiped his tears away, shamefaced of his weakness.

"It's alright, Robin, to cry…" D'Eon tried to reassure him. He had cried openly over Lia's body where they found her on the bank of the Seine. He had shed tears for poor Bernis, Durand and his teacher. "There's no shame in that…"

Robin nodded, still red-eyed from crying. The poor page had been through so much, almost too much for his young shoulders to bear, D'Eon thought.

The Psalms sat on the dresser, a silent siren song emanating from it.

"We need to send the Psalms to Her Majesty…" Robin reached out and picked up the book. "Sir D'Eon," I must go to Versailles." He was at the door now. A flutter of unreasonable panic settled over D'Eon. Robin was not a child who needed protection. He had proved himself capable enough to hold his own with any member of the Secret du Roi. Yet…

_Robin, wait!_ The words were on the tip of his tongue but D'Eon could not speak. He tried to sit up. _Don't go… _Lia called out silently but D'Eon's tongue stubbornly refused to work. In that moment of hesitation, Robin was gone. Exhausted, D'Eon collapsed back onto the pillows and into a troubled sleep filled with confused dreams.

**Author's Notes: **

I may have taken some creative liberties with the plot here to allow D'Eon and Robin fluff-time.


	18. Memento Mori

Disclaimer: The characters of Le Chevalier D'Eon do not belong to me.

D'Eon recalls a friend. Set years after the main events of the anime.

**Memento Mori**

It has been years since he passed this way. D'Eon stopped to catch his breath. He was not as young as he once was. The church where he had sought shelter with his comrades so long ago remained unchanged. The doors yielded readily to his touch. He stepped in, breathing in the musty air of a room shut for too long. He half expected to find them there, waiting for him. He lifted his skirts an inch or so above his ankles, a social gaffe for any woman but he was not a woman. Lia was long gone he had to admit that to himself. _Hopefully to her well-deserved rest._

Even if he wore a gown, she did not make her presence felt. He had been wearing dresses so long that it has become a habit. Perhaps he would feel out of place in breeches. Durand most likely would laugh at his foolishness.

D'Eon stopped a few yards before the altar.

_Durand died here. _D'Eon closed his eyes. The once dim memories reached out through the years clear as glass. The pain was a dull ache. He had grieved for Durand then but was assured by that vision allowed to him and Lia. Durand leaving them, whole once again, into the light. _He is at peace._ Afterwards on the journey back to France, he had allowed his thoughts of Anna to fill his mind. He had quite forgotten the comrade they left behind in London.

D'Eon smiled. Of course Durand now lay in the soil of their beloved France, the country he had served with his life. Queen Mary had seen that he was returned to his family with all due honour and respect. Still, he strolled down the stairs to the crypt where Durand's coffin had rested once. Coffins were stacked on either side of the corridor. Here and there, bones and dusty rags peered out of the rotted wood. _Memento mori…_ D'Eon coughed on the musty air.

* * *

Years ago…

"Enough now," Durand wiped sweat off his brow and D'Eon nodded his assent. The light was fading. They sheathed their blades and strolled to the cookhouse. It was a most enjoyable sparring match. D'Eon hated to admit it to himself but he had come to regard Durand as a friend in a brief time they had known each other. Durand was working for Their Majesties. _He can be trusted. Or can he? _Durand's opportune appearances, his easy demeanour. The man was likeable enough. _Would Lia have trusted him? _Tomorrow they would be setting out for Russia.

"Lia would not dine so heavily the night before a journey…" D'Eon gasped at the generous spread Durand had ordered for them.

"I know, but you're not her. We don't want you perishing from hunger on the road," Durand laughed.

* * *

Durand guarded his own secrets well behind that smile of his. D'Eon soon realised that. The man they pursued was a colleague of both Durand's and Lia's. Yet the brunette held his tongue on that count.

"What kind of man is Robespierre?" D'Eon asked as they watched the crashing waves from the deck of their ship en route to England. At his side, Durand shrugged.

"I do not know him that well." There was edge to his voice that hinted of a lie.

"But you were a knight of the Secret du Roi…" D'Eon turned but he was facing empty air. Durand had slipped below decks. He cursed under his breath. Lia would have gleaned some information from the brunette by now. Still he was convinced he was hiding something from them.

"He was a friend of mine, perhaps Lia's too when he was still true to France… Now I do not know," Durand returned with a bottle of wine.

"What happened?"

"Come on, have a drink… And stop sounding so serious, like Lia. You are you…" Durand took a swig from the bottle and handed it to D'Eon.

* * *

"Does it hurt?" D'Eon whispered. Guilt gnawed at him. They had cowered like rats in their hole while Durand fought and almost died within earshot. Durand tugged awkwardly at his coat with his remaining hand. D'Eon reached out to help him rearrange his coat in the confines of their coach. Robin had gone out for some air while Teillagory settled their bill at the tavern. The brunette flinched when D'Eon's hand brushed across his chest.

"Sorry…" D'Eon murmured awkwardly. Durand must be hurting from his wound and whatever torture they had subjected him to in prison. Yet that easy-going smile remained on his lips.

"It's nothing," Durand replied. He took D'Eon's right hand in his and gave it a reassuring squeeze. A furrow of worry came to Durand's brow.

"D'Eon… About Lia's soul… You are you, D'Eon…" For once, the confidence in Durand's voice faltered. Whatever he wanted to say was interrupted by Robin's untimely return.

* * *

"_You are not Lia. You are you, D'Eon," _Durand's voice seemed to whisper in his ear.

"If only it were so simple, Durand…" D'Eon breathed. In the end, he could not let her go, just as Durand had no doubt feared. Despite knowing Lia had gone to her final rest. D'Eon could not let go of those few months he had been her vessel. It was getting late. Hitching up his skirts, he emerged from the crypt as an old woman. The years had piled D'Eon with the attendant aches and pains of old age. Each day was another step towards his own inevitable mortality. He knew it would only be a matter of time before he would be with him again, as well as Lia.

**Author's Notes:**

Another depressing episode to write.


	19. Overtures

Disclaimer: The characters of Le Chevalier D'Eon do not belong to me.

D'Eon wonders about his sister Lia.

**Overtures**

He wondered why Lia's smiling to herself more often. Or why his sister would spend hours over her letters. She did seem happy so it couldn't be any harm, right? D'Eon frowned as Lia drifted past his door smiling and clutching a letter to her bosom. _Could she be in love?_ But it was so unlike his sister to be mooning over a letter.

Her work for the king kept her so very busy. It was rare that she came home these days for a visit. It could not be a fiancé as no nobleman had asked Lia for her hand yet since her betrothed perished of a fever while they were still children. It was not that Lia was wanting in looks. D'Eon had witnessed how the menfolk would gather about her to ask her to dance at balls. She was blond and fair, a beauty in her own right. She was also intelligent and witty. Some even gossiped that she was a secret mistress of the king, never mind if His Majesty often sent her half-way across Europe in the company of diplomats.

D'Eon laughed inside at that notion. Lia would never agree to be a royal mistress. She respected Her Majesty too much for that.

Could she have met and fallen for someone on one of those trips? It was likely. _If so, who was he? _Was he noble-born or a commoner? Was he a soldier or swordsman? For a moment, he felt his heart twist that Lia was keeping such a big secret from her only brother. It couldn't have anything to do with her work at Versailles, right? She had told him that they were not to ever discuss her work. Who was the man who had stolen Lia's heart?

No, it would be too rude of him to question. _Lia will tell him when she is ready, wouldn't she?_

D'Eon frowned and stared at the ink blot before him. He scrunched up the paper in his hand and tossed it aside. Taking a fresh sheet of paper, he started anew on his letter to Anna. He really hoped his Anna would treasure his letters as much as Lia treasured those from her secret beloved.

**Author's Notes:**

Lia acting like a teenager in love? That would even set her brother wondering for sure.


	20. Sealed with a Kiss

Disclaimer: The characters of Le Chevalier D'Eon do not belong to me.

More Lia- Max juiciness. Max receives a letter from Lia.

**Sealed with a Kiss**

Mere words on paper, he could almost hear her voice in them, but it was not the same. Maximilien groaned and strode over to the window. He wanted her with him, by his side. But no, she was away in Nantes spying on the Spanish Ambassador's cousin as ordered by Broglie, while he and Durand were stuck in a Parisian inn waiting further orders from His Majesty. He could smell a hint of her perfume on the letter, a heady bouquet of lily-flowers. He could see the smudge of rouge where she had kissed the paper, right next to her flowing signature.

In the other bed, Durand snored softly, dead to the world. His comrade had coped with the mind-numbing boredom in his usual manner – seducing the serving wenches, gaming at cards and drinking himself into a near-stupor. Lia had written an intimate letter to Maximilien from Tours, a reckless move. Duc d'Broglie would reprimand her if he knew. She was not to let anyone outside the Secret du Roi know of her whereabouts through such frivolous letters. Maximilien had spent the evening re-reading his beloved's letter until Durand staggered in worse for the wear from drink. The night was deep but Maixmilien could not sleep. It has been too long since he last held her. His dreams would be full of her to allow sleep, torn between fretting for her safety and longing for her…

The candle flame flickered in the gust of wind which blew in from the open window. In the quiet of the night, a dog barked. A horse whinnied in the yard.

Durand murmured in his sleep. He was no doubt enjoying some pleasant dream, perhaps of the little bar-wench he had been smiling at earlier. A red-haired minx who wore her bodice too low and her skirts too short, Maximilien recalled. She had lingered over their table long enough for both men to view her breasts, full and overflowing from her blouse. Maximilien thought it a vulgar display but Durand did not hesitate to smack her ample rump with a passing jest.

Lia was lovelier by far, even if her bosom was not as full as was currently fashionable and her figure almost boyish without her skirts and corset. Some might fault her for being too tall for a woman and declare her interest in sword fighting and intellectual pursuits scandalous. Maximilien did not mind one whit. No one could come close to Lia de Beaumont in beauty and wit as far as he was concerned. All the other ladies paled beside her.

Maximilien sighed. His patience was sorely tried by her absence. He lifted the letter once more to his scrutiny. The smudge of lip-rouge teased him. He could imagine Lia pressing her lips to the paper, those same luscious lips he had so often kissed… Without thinking, he touched the letter to his lips tenderly and kissed that smudge of rouge.

He knew it then. No matter how many fair damsels he would meet in the future. Lia was the keeper of his heart and soul. Now and forever. _Sealed with a kiss. _

**Author's Notes:**

Giving Maximilien some quiet time to think of Lia. Sorry if Durand is acting like such a flirt with the barmaid.


	21. Mon Ami

Disclaimer: The characters of Le Chevalier D'Eon do not belong to me.

Max and Durand-centric. Friendship.

**Mon Ami**

"Durand, don't you dare die on me…" the words were hissed in his ear in a harsh whisper of annoyance. Durand knew he was losing too much blood. He could feel it pouring from his shoulder onto his garments and… The strength had fled his legs and it was only Maximilien's iron grip that kept him upright. _Had Robin and the others fled already? _He had thought to hold their foes off but he had not reckoned on that damned poet, the same poet who now lay dead on the grass. _Was that Lia's doing? Or…_

Maximilien's nimble fingers found the letter in his coat pocket just as Durand lost consciousness. The brunette slumped, a dead weight in his arms. But it would be easier now to heal him with the power of the poems. Whispering the words, he sealed the wound the best he could before the redcoats came forward like cautious cats. No one noticed the blond thrust the letter into his own pocket. More would have to be done later. Careful to keep his face expressionless, he allowed the soldiers to take Durand. He considered the bloodied grass, the severed limb and the discarded blades. Let them lie there. Let those three know what has befallen their comrade.

* * *

_Many months ago, France… _

Durand shouted a warning too late. The crack of a pistol caught him off-guard. Maximilien looked mutely at the blood staining his sleeve. He had been shot in the shoulder. Then the pain hit him in a wave of faintness. He stumbled. More shots chipped the wall near his head before Durand reached his side.

"Keep moving," Durand urged and half-dragged him into a warren of alleyways. Somehow they made it back to their safe house without being seen. Lia was not back from her scouting yet. He thanked heaven that Lia was not around to see him in this state. They could not expect him to live after bleeding so much…

"Durand… tell Lia I…" Maximilien gasped softly. A fire blazed in the hearth, turning the room into an oven. Durand had stirred the slumbering embers to life and fed it. He left the poker in the heart of the logs before returning his attention to his comrade leaning pale against the wall. The cruel-looking surgeon's tools were out on the table.

"You tell her yourself," Durand tore the bloodied shirt off his colleague's back and shoved him into an armchair. "This might sting a little, mon ami…" Durand pressed a knee onto Maximilien's lap so that he was pinning him down with his weight. With one hand, he held Maximilien's shoulder steady for the task at hand.

Maximilien bit down on the leather belt Durand had stuffed between his teeth and gripped the armrests, bracing himself for the coming pain. His colleague prodded his wound for the bullet and extracted it. The blond knight finally fainted when the brunette cauterized the wound with a red-hot poker.

* * *

_Now, London…_

Durand groaned softly as he pulled himself up using the wall of his cell. They had taken his coat and that damning letter from Louis was no doubt in their hands. His battered body protested at the strain he was putting on it. Torture was nothing new to him, an occupational hazard. He was more worried about his wound. It was unnatural for it to cease bleeding as soon as it did. His whole body was so bruised and battered that he barely felt any pain in his stump.

His tormentors did not ask him about the Psalms or Lia. They did not know his true purpose… or perhaps their masters did not tell them the truth… like Louis had lied to D'Eon and-

"Max…" Durand breathed. He recognized that slender silhouette anywhere. His friend has always been lithe, much like a stalking cat. Maximilien walked over to him with an unhurried gait. In his hand Durand recognised that damning letter. The blond allowed the paper to fall to the decaying straw lining the floor.

"A touching poem indeed, did His Majesty write it?"

Durand's reply was stubborn silence. He allowed himself to slide back onto his haunches. Maximilien knelt so that he was looking Durand in the eye. Durand turned away from his icy scrutiny.

"You cannot carry those orders out…" Maximilien's tone was deadpan. He knew Durand's character too well. The bleeding was starting again. He placed his hand on Durand's exposed chest and murmured a poem. Durand gasped at the sudden warmth rushing through his veins but he did not pull away. The bleeding slowed and stopped.

"Durand, is it worth serving that man? Is he worth your loyalty? Join me, Durand…" The brunette's eyes flickered up to meet his before darting back to the grimy cell floor. Maximilien knew his answer. Most regrettably, he layered another poem onto the one he had spoken. His friend winced at the discomfort as Maximilien left his mark over Durand's heart. Perhaps he was too weak from blood loss and the beatings to protest at the far more intimate touch of Maximilien's palm on his bare skin.

"Y-you've changed…" Durand rasped. His dark eyes met Maximilien's.

"Have I?"

"L-Lia… did y-you k-kill…" there was a hint of hysterics in Durand's tone.

"Do you really believe I'd hurt a hair on her head? I love her, Durand," Maximilien replied. Durand closed his eyes and nodded, admitting the truth of his words.

"I sincerely hope you will reconsider my offer, mon ami…" Maximilien rose and turned to leave. He had left the letter on the floor beside Durand. _The poor fool. _

**Author's Notes: **

I can't resist writing a bit on the Durand-Maximilien friendship. Yes, 18th century surgery can be brutal, especially if carried out by your untrained friend under conditions less than hygienic with a risk of being found out by your enemies.


	22. Agitation

Disclaimer: The characters of Le Chevalier D'Eon do not belong to me.

Emme - LOL, I bet the Secret du Roi got up to many adventures before the whole Psalms and Maximilien turning traitor. It will be something like the 3 Musketeers, I believe. Might consider the idea but it'd be so sad because we all know how the trio ended up.

Lia leaves for Versailles again. This is inspired by the exchange between Lia and D'Eon when she leaves for Russia.

**Agitation **

"Again? But you just got back…"

"I'm sorry, D'Eon. I really would like to stay but duty calls…"

"May I come with you to Versailles, please?"

"No, D'Eon. You're to stay here and work on your studies. Perhaps when you're older…"

"But I'm fifteen!"

It was always the same argument every time she had to leave on her missions for the Secret du Roi. She could never tell D'Eon the truth of how she spent her time away from their home. D'Eon would only retreat to his room, hurt and sulking like a child when she ended the argument. She did not want to quarrel with him. He was still young and far too innocent of the deadly undercurrents beneath the glittering façade of Versailles. Let him think she was a lady-in-waiting to the queen…

Since as far back as she could recall, she had always been protecting D'Eon. D'Eon was a sickly child, prone to chills and colds. While other boys were left to roughhouse with each other, Mama always kept D'Eon close. When Papa finally sent D'Eon to Master Teillagory's for fencing lessons, he was often bullied by the other boys. He was always such a sensitive little soul. She did not want to expose her little brother to any danger, but-

* * *

Lia crumpled the coded letter in her hand before tossing it onto the flames. It curled into a pile of ashes. Her presence is required by Broglie. D'Eon had worked hard under Master Teillagory's tutelage. He seemed to be interested in a career as a soldier, the old master had confided in Lia when she last called on him. Her luggage was already packed for a fortnight at Versailles, but they could send her off to another country on a mission at the drop of a hat, more weeks away from home.

"Lia?" D'Eon strolled into room. "Are you going to Versailles again?" His honest blue eyes took in her traveling garb. Lia nodded. She was exhausted. She did not want to start on another argument.

"I've received news from Master Teillagory… I am posted to the dragoons. I'm to report to the commandant just outside Versailles… perhaps we can go together…" he started. His face was beaming with joy.

"T-that's great news, D'Eon…" Lia managed a smile. How long could she hide the truth of her work from D'Eon with him so near?

"Yes… And I will be able to visit Anna more often at Versailles…" D'Eon's fiancée Anna had been chosen to wait on Her Majesty some months ago. Fortunately, young Anna was not one to question Lia's frequent absences from her official duties at Versailles.

"Yes, Anna misses you a lot …" It would be good for the pair to get to know each other better, away from the watchful eyes of their parents.

"I'll prepare my horse…" D'Eon turned to leave the room. He had grown out of his adolescent coltishness and was now a fine young man as tall as she was. Her brother had truly grown up while she was away. She never really noticed when his voice had shifted from a childish whine to the melodious tenor of a young man. Strangely she felt a pang of regret that her brother would no longer throw any tantrums at her departures. He's a grown man now and no longer needed protecting.

**Author's Notes:**

Lia's having some wishful thinking if she thought her days of protecting her kid brother are over.


	23. Sub Rosa

Disclaimer: The characters of Le Chevalier D'Eon do not belong to me.

Emme – I agree with you on how little D'Eon knows about his sister even though they were close, possibly due to the nature of her work in the Secret du Roi.

Giulia – Glad you liked it so far. It is so sad how the anime ended.

A little something on a hidden relationship between Lia and Max.

**Sub Rosa**

Her little brother D'Eon was growing up. Still… Lia watched as he awkwardly presented Anna with a bouquet of roses, this gesture was after much urging on her part. _Didn't he understand how his fiancée would like some attention from him?_ D'Eon was so clueless that way. Anna was delighted, of course. She gave her fiancé a chaste peck on the cheek but that was enough for him to turn as red as a beetroot. Lia smiled.

Lia raised her fan to her face as her colleague approached. Over the top of her lace hand-fan their eyes met. An undercurrent of mutual desire burned. She fanned herself slightly as the heat rose in her very being. He ran a hand through the golden blond tresses she loved so much.

Should they speak? _No, their acquaintance must not be openly flaunted, especially on the grounds of Versailles. _They must continue their act as mutual strangers. She stepped to the side. Her beloved deftly plucked a rose from a nearby rose-bush as he passed it. The path was narrow here, enough for them to brush past each other without raising any curious eyebrows. Eyes downcast, Lia coyly took the flower unobtrusively offered as he passed her. He continued on his way past her without a backward glance. Lia continued on her stroll, tucking his offering into a buttonhole of her bodice.

They were oblivious to the watchers at the balcony. Durand had observed the exchange between the pair. Beside him, Broglie's mouth twisted in distaste.

"Durand, you are to inform Mademoiselle de Beaumont and Robespierre to cease their flirtation, _immediately_."

There was no place for petty romances in the ranks of His Majesty's spies.

The brunette chuckled as soon as the fuming Duc d'Broglie left the balcony.

"Continue the dance, mon ami…" Durand whispered. Let the lovebirds enjoy themselves. He had no intention of asking them to stop. One could not love to order. He knew that truth all too well.

**Author's Notes:**

Broglie is such a killjoy.

Sub Rosa – 'under the rose' in Latin. Used in English to denote secrecy or confidentiality.


	24. L'amore

Disclaimer: The characters of Le Chevalier D'Eon do not belong to me.

Anna-D'Eon fluff for a change

**L'amore**

Anna did not know when she first started admiring him. Perhaps it was when they first met just a few days shy of her sixth birthday at the baron's wedding party. He was older than her, of course, and he seemed so grown-up and refined to the little girl that she was then. She enjoyed watching him shyly when their paths crossed, which was often since their parents became fast friends. D'Eon was his name. He had a sister, Lia, who soon became a close friend of Anna's. D'Eon, like most boys his age, did not play at picking flowers or tea parties like she and Lia did. However, unlike the other boys, he was content to sit quietly and read instead of roughhousing and gamboling on the lawn.

He always carried a book, young scholar that he was. She became familiar with how his brow would furrow when he encountered a difficult passage. How his eyes lit up with delight when something caught his interest. He was a swordsman too. She had witnessed him sparring with his sister on occasion. He was her white knight. And she wanted to be his lady. Sometimes she wished her hair wasn't so red or that she was not so skinny.

When her mother took her aside on her twelfth birthday and she was informed that she was to be wed to D'Eon de Beaumont. Her heart soared and dipped with joy and nerves. Would he like her? Would he love her? She had fretted long before she learned that he loved her. It amused her how he would glance quickly at her before glancing away. Or how she would receive short poems of love or little gifts left on her window sill. His awkward shyness only endeared him all the more to her.

It was love, and she knew it. However, she must know from his mouth, in his own words. She felt her heart race as she saw his familiar figure heading towards her.

**Author's Notes: **

This is inspired by the scene when a younger Anna and D'Eon are alone at the fountain and Anna was asking D'Eon about his feelings on their betrothal.


	25. The Three Musketeers

Disclaimer: The characters of Le Chevalier D'Eon do not belong to me.

Durand reminisces on what once was.

**The Three Musketeers**

"So it's the four of us, the 4 musketeers. All for one and one for all, eh?" old Teillagory guffawed as he helped Robin lift their trunk into the coach. Discussing their route with their driver, Durand could not help but overhear. He felt a sharp pang in his chest which only became more acute as a tousle-haired D'Eon emerged from the building, having slept in. He looked so much like his dead sister. Blinking to clear his head, Durand forced his attention back to the map before him.

* * *

Their horses' hoofs ploughed through the mud as if they were flying. The wind tore at their hair while the rain lashed them mercilessly. Lightning flashed and thunder boomed. They were travelling light, having achieved the goal of the mission and were now flying back to France. They could not afford the luxury of stopping. As usual, Lia was in the lead. Her horse was grey, a pale blur in the dark. It was a tempting target in the murk. A boom and a burst of fire flashed from behind a twisted tree. Her horse, spooked, reared as she clung onto the reins.

Maximilien caught up with her on his black stallion, covering her as she regained control of her steed. He returned fire with a pistol despite the damp. He must have hit home as a dark figure stumbled out of the shadows of the tree and onto the muddy path. The sniper was not alone. More men on horseback emerged from the trees, blades drawn. There was now too much rain for firearms. Silently and solemnly, Lia and Max drew their swords as their horses paced and pawed. Surrounded, they would have to fight their way out.

All their hopes now lay with Durand. The brunette's chestnut mare had fallen behind a little. Their enemies probably failed to notice there was a third man in their party. Lia and Max engaged their attackers in combat off the path, leaving the way clear. Without slowing, Durand galloped past his companions. He had faith they would catch up. He must deliver the letter in his saddlebag to the Comte before it was too late…

"Durand! Watch out!" Maximilien's keen eyes spotted the rope slung across the path between two trees before Durand did. It was a trap to trip a passing horse. Durand reined in his steed too late. The horse stumbled, tossing Durand headlong into the earth hard. He blacked out from the impact.

* * *

"Durand?" Lia's voice cut through the haze of pain. He tried to sit up and the room swum about him. Lia hastened to prop him up with a pillow.

"Where are we?" he asked. He was in a warm bed, wearing a clean linen shirt. His freshly laundered clothes hung by the fireplace, drying.

"A farmer's cottage in Lorraine, a few miles from the border…" Lia replied.

"God, the Comte…" Durand felt sick to his stomach. It was daylight and the sun must have been up for hours… The letter should have reached the Comte last night.

Maximilien strode into the room, dishevelled and sporting an arm in a crude sling. He looked dog-tired. "Don't worry, I've been to the Comte. He has the letter. Sorry about your horse though. She broke her leg and we had to kill her." He flung Durand's battered saddlebag onto the table.

"Was it…" Durand ventured.

"They signed the treaty an hour before I got there… Sorry," The news of their failure hung over them. The Duc du Broglie would be furious. Durand clenched his fists in the sheets in helplessness.

Durand then noticed that Lia was massaging her own shoulder. There was a bandage on her exposed calf. Both Lia and Max were still in their damp and stained clothes from the night before.

"You should have left me," Durand muttered. It was a simple matter for either of them to grab the saddlebag from his fallen horse and ride on, abandoning him for dead. Instead, they have fought off their attackers to rescue him. At risk to their mission, they had ridden with him across the saddle of Lia's horse to seek shelter with a farmer. It was only after a doctor had been sent for that Max rode on with the letter, ignoring his own injuries.

"Don't be foolish, Durand. We're the three musketeers…" Lia chided.

"All for one and one for all…" Max nodded in agreement with Lia.

* * *

The gently-rocking coach had lulled his three companions to sleep. It was not too long ago that he had travelled on this very same road with his former colleagues._ When had it changed? Was it when Maximilen was ordered to leave for Russia? Or was it earlier?_ Durand had been away in Marseilles then.

"_All for one and one for all…_ What happened, Lia, Max? What went wrong with the 3 musketeers?" Durand whispered under his breath as he looked out on the passing countryside. The ache of losing his friends was still there. _How he wished he knew. _

**Author's Notes:**

A glimpse of what was. Believe the Secret du Roi during Lia and Max's time in it would be quite something. They were probably like the 3 musketeers.


	26. Garden Idyll

Disclaimer: The characters of Le Chevalier D'Eon do not belong to me.

Some D'Eon-Anna angst

**Garden Idyll **

The children were restless with the coming of warmer days. Ruefully, their French tutor allowed his students to leave the schoolroom a full half-hour earlier than usual. The young princes whooped and chased each other out the French doors. Their older sisters strolled out in the dignified manner ingrained in them by their mother. The way they held themselves- shoulders back, heads held high as they all but floated out onto the grass - just like his sister and Anna did.

For a while, he sat listening to the birdsong and enjoying the warmth of the sun beaming in with his eyes closed. The royal children laughed at their play outside. Finally, he opened his eyes and made his way out.

His skirts rustled as he walked over to the open doors. Queen Mary was in the garden, admiring a daisy chain the youngest princess has made for her. The older princesses were collecting flowers for pressing, a pastime deemed suitable, alongside the pianoforte and watercolours, for English ladies of high birth. They would not want for specimens. Flowers are blooming in the gardens in profusion. Queen Mary's maidservants were cutting roses, primroses and daffodils for the Hall's many table-vases.

The Hall's garden was done in a rustic English-style and awash with a kaleidoscope of colour. Songbirds and butterflies flitted among the rose bushes, often pursued by the young princes and their butterfly nets despite the pleas of their harried nannies. Yet something was missing…

It struck him then.

There were no irises, those violet blooms which so freely graced the garden of his family home and the French countryside outside Versailles.

They had always been Anna's favourite flower.

Standing there, watching the children, D'Eon could not help but feel a sense of loss.

**Author's Notes:**

The iris flower appears in the opening credits and seems symbolic of the doomed love between D'Eon and Anna.


End file.
